I tell myself every year I’m not going to write and send an eNews message while on vacation. Every year, I fail to keep this pledge. I know why. There are two reasons.

First, it’s because I’m a writer at heart. For me, writing is far more than a byproduct of my task as a pastor. It’s in my DNA. Somewhere along the twirling genetic strand responsible for my development as a human being is a switch. In the off position, writing is a chore. But mine’s been flipped to the “on” position. I do it because it’s who I am, and as such, it’s harder to avoid writing than it is just to sit and do it.

My wife, Jennifer, more or less highlighted the second reason I continue to fail at keeping the “no eNews” pledge. It happened during a relatively recent conversation between us concerning death. She asked where I’d like to be buried. Assuming the conversation wasn’t hinting at a secret desire to off me in the pool while away, I floated along in its stream, implying I didn’t really care where the family returned me to the ground. My only two requirements have been that I not be cremated and that the mortician embalms me with my remaining whisky, fully aware that, even as I’m friends with many of the funeral directors in the area, the former is more probable than the latter. Beyond that, the family can sink me in the pond in the backyard for all I care.

From there, Jennifer asked if our church had ever considered using some of its property for a cemetery. I told her it had been discussed at one time years ago, but nothing ever came of it. It was then she betrayed a profound love for the people in our congregation and how she didn’t want to be buried in a random cemetery somewhere. When it came time for her burial, she wanted a place where she, and perhaps the generations of Thoma kin to follow, could be laid to rest together with their realest family—their church family. When she said that, not only did I know she was describing something I somehow knew I also wanted but never realized, but I understood why I would continue writing a message like this on vacation when I really don’t have to.

It’s because I love my family. The hundreds of people who receive this eNews every week at Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church in Hartland, Michigan, where I serve as pastor, are a part of that family—my realest family. Along with my immediate family, these are the people who, when the final trumpet sounds and our corrupted bodies are raised incorruptible to stand before the throne of Christ (1 Corinthians 15:51-57), I will count it all joy to experience this beside them. I’d count it a privilege to be alongside the Christians among whom I lived and breathed and served and worshipped in this life.

Maybe it’s time to revisit the idea of a church cemetery. With twenty-six acres, we certainly have the space. I’ll leave that to the church leaders at Our Savior, who may be reading this right now. To everyone else, I’ll simply encourage you to give thanks to God for your church family. In this life and the next, they’re the realest family you’ll ever know.

By the way, for the editors out there, I know “realest” isn’t a word. I just like how it sounds.